


Purple and Grey

by Serinah



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Awesome Clint Barton, BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Clint Barton, Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes Feels, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton-centric, Deaf Character, Deaf Clint Barton, Ivan is a lucky man, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Clint Barton, Pining, sex scenes can be skipped, soul bonds fade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-06 21:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15204155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serinah/pseuds/Serinah
Summary: For Clint, getting over his soulbond with Bobbi is not easy: he’s on forced vacation, his tenants are having issues which makes him have issues, and then there’s the overwhelming boredom that makes him bond with fruit. When Coulson finally takes pity on him, he’s allowed a light duty of babysitting a new recruit in the middle of rehabilitation - the Winter Soldier. Very soon, they are friends. Very soon, Clint has a crush, so it’s totally unreasonable to expect him to say no to Bucky’s tongue-in-cheek advances. What is a poor man to do? Clint does what he always does - he wings it.OR:Clint has an itch. Literally. ;)





	Purple and Grey

**Author's Note:**

> AU which takes place after Winter Soldier has come back and is in the process of rehabilitation into self-governance and SHIELD. Discards Civil War and Infinity Wars and all the shebang. Canon divergent where Bucky’s recovery is just added where I want. The Loki thing happened like in MCU, even though it isn't dealt with specifically in this fic. Also, Bobbi‘s and Clint’s break-up is different than in canon, but I didn’t vilify her, she's still awesome. :) 
> 
> ART is done by Doomcheese. Thank you! :)
> 
> BETA: Dap, Sakkakitty, BuckytheDucky, and Bobbi’s texts were half-written by Wynnesome. THANK YOU GUYS!!  
> (I'f I've forgotten you, I'm so, so, so sorry!! Feel free to find me and give me a spank. This story has been in the making for a year I think so...Sorry?)
> 
> I've adjusted the story for those that want to skip the sex. There are three scenes, that are marked *** (1), (2), (3) and (4).  
> Plot wise they are not important, but if you take a look at the end notes, I give a short explanation of what might be important in those scenes.
> 
> ALSO!! - just wound a phrase in my text when I pasted into the AO3 story text box that in my google docs was written in white. It was not supposed to be there and I have no idea how it got there (I've had to drag my 18mo off the computer a couple of times?). I eliminated it, but if you read and find some other absolutely illogical stuff anywhere PLEASE let me know. There might be more idiocy that I can't see. There shouldn't be, but you never know.

 

 

 

Thursday night the pipe burst. Not that he knew it at the time; his apartment was on the top floor and the pipe in question wasn’t, but Lucky started licking his face just after he’d fallen asleep, so technically (and that was the hill Clint would die on), it was still late, not already early.

Pushing barking Lucky away, he inserted one aid, just in case it wasn’t just his demanding an impromptu walk for a queasy stomach.

“Clint! Clint, wake up, my kitchen is flooded!” he heard Aimee’s voice.

Lucky whined, tried licking his face again and then padded to the door to join in on the fun of shouting through the door.

“Clint, Lucky’s telling me you're home. Get up, lazy bones!”

“Go away!” Clint replied and then promptly buried his head under a large sofa cushion.

Lucky barked.

“Shut up,” Clint mumbled.

“My kitchen is flooded, Clint! Get up!”

“Get the handyman!” …the fuck?

“You’re the handyman, Ben quit, remember?”

“Then call the plumber! I just got to bed!”

“It’s almost nine. At least open the door, Clint. Please?”

Fuck, he hated when people actually asked nicely. He lifted the cushion a bit and peered at the harsh light assaulting him from the windows. Yes, Aimee probably wasn’t lying about it being morning.

“Is it very flooded?” he tried.

Lucky answered with a bark.

“I bet it's not that flooded,” he hazarded a guess.

A sigh. “Yes, Clint. It’s very, very flooded. Didn't you hear what Lucky said?”

Clint sat up with a groan. “How would he know?”

“He's a dog. He can sense these things.”

“The hell he can,” he shouted back, and muttered, “Right.”

He put the other aid in. 

Lucky made a noise that would qualify as a snort if he were a human, but as it was, Clint decided to interpret it as expelling dust from his canine nose. “Shut up,” he still muttered towards the dog, just in case. Lucky smiled, his tongue lolling out and sat down as if waiting patiently, as if he was sure that it was only a matter of time until his human would quit being a stubborn ass and open the door.

“Come on, Clint, I really need your help even if we call the plumber,” Aimee was saying in the meantime.

Clint whined at his dog to try and get him back on his side, but Lucky looked relentless. Clint sighed and did what Lucky asked.

“I don’t like you,” he grumbled towards the open door and Aimee’s general direction. He rubbed his eyes; Clint would take an alien invasion over a burst pipe any time. Ivan was a lucky man. “Are you sure it’s not aliens? Aliens are easy, I’ll just get my bow and-”

“Aliens-? Why would it be aliens? It’s a burst pipe, Clint.”

He sighed and looked down at her incredulous face. “Okay,” he said.

“Okay?”

Aimee sounded as if he was supposed to do something. Clint blinked, looked over at the staircase, then checked if Aimee was alright. Stared. “Why are you barefoot?”

“Kitchen, Clint! Flooded!” Exasperated.

“Why is it flooded?” Plainative.

Aimee sighed. “Come downstairs, Clint. I’ll put the coffee on.”

 

***

 

“Aw, broom, not you too.”

Clint sighed and looked at the handle between his fingers: the item had just decided to declare its independence from the rest of the broom.

Usually, Clint didn’t dislike mornings, but this one wasn’t going according to plan. He was just in the middle of distributing the murky liquid caffeine between a mug and a carafe when his phone rang and things started happening in a rapid succession.

“Shit! Ow! Fuck!”

Hohothot! Fuck! Where was that damn phone? No, he should find a towel – no phone first. No- Oh, it’s not hot anymore. Clint slipped, skid on the wet floor, landed in front of the sofa and found the phone. Almost. It was somewhere under the sofa. In the sofa? Between the cushions? It had to be somewhere-

“Yess!” He grabbed the flat (not purple, Bobbi!) device and it promptly stopped ringing.

Slowly Clint got up and sat there, staring at the darkish pool on the floor and regretted even putting the aids in this morning. Missing your soulmate was like missing a limb. It fucking hurt and it made Clint hate the moment he’d ever lay his eyes on Bobbi Morse.

Clint spent some time staring at the half-open takeout carton on the kitchen counter. Wondered why he was staring at it and realized he had no idea how long he might have been staring.  He tried to calculate the lost time and then he wondered why it mattered how long he’d been staring and had to wrangle his brain into stopping the calculations.

Why was she even texting him? Hadn’t they decided…?

After a while he noticed that the food was almost cold, but took the carton to the sofa anyway.

 

*** (1)

 

The first dried apricot he fished out of the pack looked like a vulva. The second one didn’t, so he opened it up at the edge to make it look like one. He put it aside and checked another one. This one opened into a full vagina with a decent clitoris even. He managed a full set of nine vulvas and four open vaginas and took pictures of the best of them. Then, snickering to himself, he ate them.

 

***

 

The next day it was rinse, repeat (except for the dry fruit experiment). Plus, there was another text from Bobbi, which made a pang go through his body, so he deleted it. Why couldn’t she just leave him alone? She was the one to have left him, after all. Bobbi was probably back to work as if nothing happened, while Clint’s mark still throbbed.

Damn Kate to have swindled his only cuddly friend again.

 

***

 

“Phil, I need a mission." 

“Clint? Is that you? What time is it?”

“Ass o’clock for me, mid-morning for you. Why aren’t you up yet?”

“It’s Sunday morning, Clint. How can I help you?” Phil sighed, but when opened his mouth next, he suddenly sounded a lot more awake and very purposefully not worried. “Are you feeling alright?”

“No, I’m not alright. I need a mission.”

“Clint.”

“Any mission.”

“Are you sure that’s wise? It’s only been three months, Clint.”

“Three and a half. Phil, please, I need to be doing something!” Clint wished his voice sounded less desperate and more decisive than it did.

Phil sighed. “How bad are your side-effects?”

“Gone.”

“All of them?”

He paused. “The soulmark still tingles, otherwise I’m good. Look, Phil, doing nothing only makes it worse.”

“I understand that it feels that way, but I can’t send you on a mission if you’re experiencing any weakness, disorientation or light-headedness, you know that.”

“No, there’s nothing like that. No light-headedness. All gone.”

“How much are you lying to me? On a scale of one to ten?”

”Almost zero. Well, maybe one. But I’m good, Phil. I’m going stir crazy here, doing plumbing, staring at the dishes and building female genitalia out of fruit.”

For a long beat, Phil was quiet. “No, I don't think I want to know.” He sighed _again_. “Alright then. Maybe  can give you a light-duty job-”

“Not paperwork.”

“No, I know you better than that, give me some credit.”

Clint nodded. “Okay then. What is it?”

“But I mean it, an easy mission, Clint. Nothing in your usual league.”

“Fine.”

Phil pauses. “It might take some time. You don’t like missions like this.”

“Can it, Phil. Boring stuff, I get it. What’s the assignment?”

“You’d only need to supervise."

“Babysitting. Fine. Green agent or witness protection?”

“Neither. It’s another field-test for Barnes. Hopefully the last. Agent Romanoff was going to do it, but something urgent popped up that only she could do, so we were going to postpone sending Barnes out right now, but since you are volunteering…”

“Hold on, Phil! So you are saying that you’re partnering me up with Winter Soldier who was going to be up under Black Widow’s supervision, but I still don’t need my A-game for it?”

“The uppers are just jerking him around because of his history, but I say he’s reliable.”

“You sound sure.”

“That’s because I am.”

“And you were still going to partner him with Natasha for an easy mission?”

“Not by choice.”

“Hm. Alright then. When?”

“You’ll have to be cleared by medical.”

“Right.” He thought it over. “When?”

“Report to HQ at eight tomorrow.”

 

***

 

The medical was pointless, but Clint muddled through: his results were good and what the doc didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him. The mission brief also went without a hitch and Barnes didn’t even glare that much. Mostly, he looked serious and closed off, just as most of Clint’s other colleagues, and most of them weren’t even as easy on the eye.

Clint blinked at the thought.

For the longest time Clint had thought that Bobbi would be it, that he’d never think about anyone like that anymore, but it seemed that his body still had physical needs, because Barnes’s wide shoulders seemed to be having an effect on his nether regions. Clint shrugged it off.

When Barnes almost aggressively pushed past him to take the wheel, Clint grunted and reached for the radio controls. Barnes growled.

“Seriously?” Clint said, amused. “This is oldies music, and not even the kind Steve listens to, this is the Ramones.” He waited a beat, but Barnes was doing his brainwashed assassin impersonation and didn’t react. “This is 80s music. Punk. I must know what ‘punk’ originally meant.”

“Yeah, I used to call Stevie that.” Barnes’s lips twitched.

Clint grinned. “Yeah, he does seem to need a reality check here and there…”

For a while they drove in silence and Clint was playing with a bottle cap. The first time he shot Barnes in the temple with it, he got away with a glare, but the second time Barnes caught the cap, crushed it, and quick as a lightning threw it back, hitting Clint on the nose. Clint burst out laughing.

The rest of the journey passed peacefully, and when Clint reached out for the radio the second time, Barnes didn't object. Clint showed his appreciation by consulting with him on the station.

 

***

 

Phil had been right. The stakeout was long and tedious. After deciding on the particulars of the jobs, they lapsed into silence. 

“Downgraded from Romanoff to Barton,” Barnes mused after a while. “Must be a good sign.”

“Nah, she’s just busy.”

“Or maybe this assignment is just that much more easier?”

“Can it, Robocop,” Clint replied easily.

“Or maybe this time around, it is me babysitting you?”

“Yes, you hit on the nail with this one. They want to see if the infamous Winter Soldier will scare me into fainting.”

Not a muscle moved in Barnes‘s face, but somehow Clint still thought that the other man was holding back a smile.

“The way I heard it, you had a breakdown a few months back and were on a mental health leave.”

“Yeah, we are your regular Mental Health Bros.” This time there was a definite twitch to the assassin’s lips. “Members of the same club,” Clint nodded sagely.

“Milking it, Barton.”

Clint glanced at the other man and frowned. “Male goat?”

“Oh, shut up.” Then, “Although, milking a male can be enjoyable, too, if that’s your thing.” Barnes turned an almost lurid smirk at Clint and wiggled his eyebrows.

A strange pang went through Clint, but he covered it with rolling his eyes.

It was concerning though, if even Barnes had heard, the agents were probably still talking about it. He knew how people at SHIELD were: intrigue upon a prank and worse, but the moment there was an ‘outsider’ they closed ranks tighter than a drum. No way they’d just tell Winter Soldier some old forgotten story. Was Bobbi back in New York? Was that why she was texting?

 

***

 

Lucky must have eaten shit again. Somehow. Clint always tried paying attention so Lucky wouldn’t eat stuff off the ground when they were out, but he must have fucked up - it was the third time this night that Lucky was itching to go out. 

Clint groaned, pulled a random shirt over his head and donning his purple crocs, headed to the door.

Lucky didn't even choose, just squatted on the nearest, mostly green patch that went for a lawn around here, and let go.

Clint was just about to pat the obviously relieved and exhausted dog on his head, when Lucky’s head came up, alert. Clint’s groggy brain took its time to parse what it meant, so when his feet started to move, the damn beast was already almost half a block away.

“Lucky! Come back here!” he shouted, but he wasn’t an Avenger for nothing - and by the end of that sentence he was already sprinting. “Lucky! Stop!”

“Shudup, modafuckah!” someone answered from above him.

Despite an indigestion, Lucky was apparently well enough to develop a speed Clint would be pressed to match even at his best, nevermind when tired, sleepy, and in crocs.

“Fuck!” Clint swore as he righted himself, stumbling over his own clumsy footwear. One croc went flying at an angle his brain automatically supplied.

Clint limped for two steps before taking off the other croc and holding it, leaped over a trash can lying on the sidewalk.

“Lucky!” Shit, shit, shit. Where the hell was he? “Lucky?” he repeated more quietly, slowing down and peeking into the closest alley. There was no doubt that unlike Clint, Lucky was not hard of hearing. “You want pizza? We can get pizza.” He whistled softly. “Here, boy!”

He took up the pace again and jogged from one alley to the next, all of which seemed to be empty. Quietly swearing under his breath, Clint turned straight towards the main road and -

There! The shameless suck-up was calmly sitting by a fast food truck, looking for all the world as if the dude he was begging scraps from was his human. A sharp stab of annoyance shot through Clint and, jogging, he turned right into the street to catch the treacherous fugitive red-pawed.

“Fuck!”

He jumped back to get out of the way of a speeding bike and stumbled backwards. Something hit him in the thighs, and before he could catch himself he was sommersaul-

Except no, he was unable to execute the proper landing because instead of the ground, his back hit water and he was under, and his butt was up on the edge of some kind of water tank, but then he got it down and finally, finally, sputtering and coughing, he sat up. Clint wiped the murky water out of his stinging eyes and blinked, finding himself in a goddamn oversized kiddie pool with cartoon fish drawn on the edge!

Incensed and waterlogged, he dragged himself out and leapt back across the railing he'd fallen over earlier. With one purple croc still in his hand, he started purposefully striding across the road to the truck and his unsuspecting canine delinquent.

Vaguely, Clint registered hearing high-pitched barking, but didn’t pay it any mind right up until it was right behind him and _something_ was tearing at the back of his pant leg.

“What the-”

Clint turned around only to see a small short-haired dachshund viciously clutching the edge of his sweatpants between her teeth.

“Hey!” Clint exclaimed indignantly.

He feinted a kick at the dog without actually kicking it and the vindictive little female (if the gaudy pinkish collar was anything to go by) let him go. Immediately, she jumped to the side before scurrying forward and engaging in a frontal attack. To save his toes, Clint leapt to the right, collided with a lamp post and promptly hopped on it. Then he just clung to it like an overgrown monkey and the let out a string of swear words.

“You do realise that I could actually kill you if I wanted to?”

Despite the threat, the dachshund seemed to believe she got the upper ha- paw and kept dancing around the pole, jumping and barking victoriously.

“Hey!” Clint shouted, looking around. “Whose dog is this?”

Not getting an answer, he threw his remaining croc at the irate female and looked on, as she proceeded to decimate the soft plastic, undoubtedly demonstrating what she'd do to him, if he manned up enough to come down from the safety of his perch.

Clint tried looking around for the owner but the street seemed deserted. Then he remembered the man Lucky was trying to adopt. He shifted around so that he could look comfortably behind him and froze.

Because the human Lucky had taken a shine to, was none other than the ridiculously attractive Winter Soldier, Clint had just finished a stake-out with some hours earlier.

Shit.

“There a reason why there’s a pony on your T-shirt?” Barnes drawled.

Clint blinked, looked down on his chest, and yes, it was one of the large sleeping shirts Kate had for some reason left at his place.

Despite the inner embarrassment at his ridiculous appearance, Clint grinned winningly. “What? You don’t agree that friendship is magic?”

“Natty!”

Clint craned his neck back as much as he could and saw an obviously angry young woman, jogging from the direction of the pool he’d taken a dip in earlier.

“Nat!” she was yelling. “Natalie! Come here this instant!”

Clint felt his eyes widen at the name.

“Natalie, darling, come here,” the woman said placatingly, as _Natty_ (Clint really had a hard time not to start snickering at the dog’s name) was still jumping around, although now that her human was there, preening and whining had replaced the barking. Finally, after a bit of petting and praise, the woman got a leash on the pink monstrosity and turned to walk away.

Not a glance was spared at Clint.

“What about an apology?” Clint shouted after her. “Or maybe a thank you for entertainment? A tip?”

The woman turned quickly around and furiously, just like her dog, snarled, “Maybe I would apologise, if you hadn’t desecrated our pool and frightened our poor Natty half to death!"

Clint gaped, adjusted the leg that was lower on the pole and looking at the fleeing duo, scratched the back of his head.

“Well,” he told Lucky, hopping lightly to the ground. “See the trouble you get me into? I scared poor Natty half to death.”

 

***

 

They had shit intel. Again.

Clint was drawing and releasing like mad, quiver emptying by the minute, while Barnes was pulled into a close fight to even the odds at least a little, because the agents on the ground were in over their heads.

“The gate, secure the gate!” Clint yelled, but no one was paying him any attention because they simply couldn't afford to. At this point it was ‘pull back and leave no man behind, except they couldn’t leave without blowing up the main building or thousands would die.

And now Clint was out of arrows.

He jumped down the ledge and somersaulted off the balcony. Wielding his bow like a quarterstaff, he headed straight for the big truck on the other side of the yard. About five minutes and close to dozen beekeepers later he leapt into the truck and thank the God of Thieves everywhere, the keys were in the ignition. Before blocking the gates with it, in gratitude, he sacrificed several goons under its wheels.

Then there was nothing for it - until the backup came or the building exploded he just had to sit tight and hold the gate. Which at the moment meant jumping on the three beekeepers going at one SHIELD agent. He got one down, anoth-

He fell to his knees, his left shoulder on fire. Took one beekeeper off at the knees and smashed his face. He rolled, barely avoiding a kick in the nuts. For a moment, everything was a blur.

“Pull back, pull back!” Barnes was yelling over the comms, and Clint managed to get himself on all fours before someone kicked him in the head, dislodging his left hearing aid.

The next several moments were all pain and nausea, and something was wrong with his sight. When he found out that his legs were still under him and functioning, he realised that he was being dragged somewhere which, frankly didn’t bode- wait, there was a metal arm on the other end of his rescuer’s strong shoulders, so it was fine. Clint grabbed a knife from Barnes’s hip and on their way… somewhere, stabbed an opponent or two. Then, thank fuck, he heard the helicopter rotors.

 

***

 

“Is that...” Barnes started and then shut up. “Sorry. Not my business...” For a moment he looked at Clint, but then, as if involuntarily, his eyes fell back to the soulmark. Quickly, he averted his eyes.

Yeah, this was why Clint didn't generally use SHIELD locker rooms any more. Quickly, he reached for his T-shirt and pulled it over his head. “Yes, it’s my soul mark and yes, it’s faded.”

“I’m sorry.”

Clint shrugged. “Don’t be. We both decided it was better that way. Bobbi and I…” He tried not to grimace. “It didn’t work out.”

There was a beat of silence. “You mean…” Barnes frowned. “You mean, they’re alive? Your soulmate is alive?”

Yeah, that’s how it usually went. Sometimes people just stared at him funny, but Barnes was clearly one of those who felt they had to show their disapproval.

“Bobbi Morse.” Clint forced himself not to hurry too obviously, as he sat down to lace his boots. “You work long enough in the field, you'll probably meet her.”

Fuming at the judgemental silence, Clint packed up and was almost out of the door, when Barnes spoke up.

“Mine’s the same.”

Clint gritted his teeth. “Yeah. Well, you and Cap… Your situation was a bit different.”

“Sure.” Barnes nodded in acknowledgment. “Everyone’s situation is always different. I just wanted to say that I know how it feels. Seeing your soul mate having moved on...” His voice drifted off. “At least I know how it feels after the mark has faded. The fading itself… Don’t really remember it. My soul bond probably just dissolved over the years.”

As shitty and painful as the slow version was, he couldn't imagine he'd want to experience it the way Barnes had to.

“Must’ve sucked, to come back and discover that it’s gone. I'm so sorry, man.”

“Wasn’t that bad, I guess. Comparatively. Steve’s faded in a matter of days after he woke up. He didn’t say, but it probably hurt like hell.”

Clint shuddered. “Well, fuck."

“Yeah.”

There was a pause and then unthinkingly, like Clint did most of his life-changing decisions, he asked, “Wanna come to my place and get shit-faced together?”

Barnes blinked. “You gonna wear that pink number and dance on a pole again?”

Clint’s lips almost twitched. “With crocs even,” he promised, deadpan.

That night, Barnes became Bucky.

 

***

 

“It broke a while ago. Ignore it." 

“And how long ago was that? It’s been this way since before I first came here.”

“Your point?”

“The point is that you’re a disaster. Even little dogs with a temper know you’re a disaster that can be chased up a pole. Why haven’t you replaced it?”

“Replaced? Of course, I haven't replaced it,” he said reasonably. “I feel kinship with this broom. We are both disabled.”

“Both off the handle you mean?”

“That too.”

 

***

 

“What’cha you doin’?" 

Clint was exhausted. Lying on the couch (Lucky was with Kate again), his feet on the backrest, his head on the cushion and eyes closed, he was listening to the vague sounds coming from the kitchen portion of his apartment.

“What’s it look like I’m doin’?”

“I’ve no idea, m’eyes closed.”

The pain pulsing behind his forehead accompanied by the drilling sensation in the middle of his left shoulder blade. God, that shoulder wound was the worst.

Clint shifted on the couch and opened his eyes.

“Are you _cleaning_?”

Bucky glared at him. “No.”

Clint ignored the obvious lie. “Bobbi never did that, you know.” He closed his eyes again, reminiscing. Strangely, it only hurt a little, now. “She’d tell me off for the state this place was in and then we’d go to her place. We practically lived together there… Over four years.”

“Did you clean after yourself there?”

“I tried not to bring too much of my stuff over…” Clint had no idea what he’d said wrong, but Bucky didn’t reply and for some reason, it suddenly seemed awkward. Clint pulled the cushion over his face again and tried to explain, “I don’t really need that much. I guess it was easier that way.”

“Easier for whom?”

The venom in Bucky’s quiet voice shocked Clint.

“It… wasn’t like that,” he objected. It wasn’t. Was it? “She… loved me, but I’m a lot of work and she hated how I did things. How I did most things it now seems.” He shrugged. “It worked.”

“So you what? Left your stuff here and _visited_?”

Clint opened his mouth to explain, but found that he didn’t have any solid arguments. In hindsight, it did feel like he had been visiting. In hindsight it was also obvious that while he’d thought that Bobbi was too stubborn to compromise, he now saw that she’d probably just been hurt by his lack of commitment. Clint hadn’t known until right this moment that he might’ve had commitment issues.

“It’s complicated,” he ended up saying.

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Bucky said quietly.

 

***

 

The zip ties bit into his wrists, his ribs ached and he had to fight down nausea. Everything was quiet, the forgot-to-put-the-aids-in quiet, so that sucked, because he seemed to be in a tac gear and his body was telling him, he’d been in a fight.

For a while, he just sat there, carefully breathing in and out, trying to see in the penetrating darkness and little by little, an empty dead-end of a tunnel took shape around him.

Then he remembered - there was some dude calling themselves Doom Cheese? Or had he misheard? Clint resented being captured by someone calling themselves after depressed dairy. He shook the thought off.

He seemed to having most of his equipment, but his feet were tied and his injuries reminded him to be careful while maneuvering around for the hidden blade in his boot.

Clint jerked and had to bite back a cry because there was a cutting pain in his shoulder blade. Keeping all his swearing internal, he ignored the subsequent burn the pain had petered into, and curled his body back into the pretzel he needed to access the blade.

It only took him two minutes to get free and moving, but the damn shoulder wound still kept reminding him of its existence with random stabs of pain.

 

***(2)

 

It was after the three days full of one fuck-up after another that they finally subdued Madame Masque, and it was after that mission that Bucky gave him a blowjob the first time.

They'd just come back from the field, the smell of soot still in their hair and their ears still ringing from the gun fire. Clint was the last one having come back from the field and by the time he made it to the SHIELD washroom, he shared with only high level agents, it was empty. He'd just got off his bulletproof vest when the door opened with a pang and Bucky, grinning from ear to ear, strode in.

“I was waiting for you,” he said, stepping closer and putting his right hand on Clint’s sternum.

The flesh and bone palm warmed Clint’s chest and suddenly, he fiercely wished that it were the metal one, pressing him against the wall, holding him in place, while Bucky's lips kissed the hell out of him-

“Whoa!” Clint stumbled back, surprised, fingers touching his lips to verify that yes, it wasn’t just him fantasizing, it actually did happen. “What the hell was that?”

“Relax, it's the traditional post-mission blowjob. You okay with that?"

Clint blinked and the nodded. “Yeah.” Cleared his throat. “Yes. Please.”

Bucky didn’t start slow. He made quick work of Clint’s pants, dropped to his knees and dived straight in. Within minutes Clint was ready to burst. He put his fingers into Bucky’s hair and moaned. The warm heat of the mouth was as good as what the tongue and lips were doing and Clint was panting. He banged his head against the wall behind him and stood like that, throat exposed, mouth open, unable to breathe in or out, because he was co-

No, he wasn’t, because Bucky had backed off and his metal fingers were squeezing Clint’s base and-

“Bucky?” Clint had found a couple of brainsells to translate his thoughts into something his tongue could pronounce.

“Yes, darling?”

“What are you doing?”

“What? Did you really want to come in under two minutes like a teenager?”

“Yes!” Clint gaped at his friend in disbelief. “I always want to come, you moron. Now get on with it!”

Bucky grinned. “With pleasure!” he said and took Clint’s cock in his mouth again.

This time he went slower, but somehow he still managed to touch just the right spots at the right time and in the right way. In no time, Clint was panting and tugging at Bucky’s short hair, bucking his hips, only to be pressed back against the wall by the cybernetic arm.

Clint moaned.

The force behind the arm and the hard feel of the metal made Clint’s legs weak and his fingers gentle and numb. For a moment Bucky stilled, then as if trying it out, moved the arm over Clints hips and belly. Clint whimpered and thought if he should maybe beg, but the only thing coming out of his mouth was still an incoherent breathing noise. Clint thought he could feel the mouth around his member smile and then suddenly the suction intensified and the metal arm was roaming his body, caressing, pinching and rubbing.

Clint’s limbs felt rubbery, and he was-

Not again!

Clint swore.

“How do you always know?” he whined. “I was almost there!”

Bucky grinned and kissed Clin’t inner thigh. “Hush and let me play.”

Probably mindful of the state Clint was in, Bucky started even slower this time, kissing and nipping and stroking gently everywhere but the cock itself and Clint’s hands spasmed and he put them on Bucky’s shoulders, which was rewarded by an open-mouthed kiss on the side of his shaft.

Clint moaned.

Very soon, Clint was chanting ‘please’ under his breath, but Bucky paid him no mind.

“Please,” Clint finally half said, half moaned out loud.

Bucky only grunted and that too elicted a reaction.

By the time Bucky allowed Clint to come, he was half-coherent with arousal and his fingers just mindlessly clutching at Bucky’s shoulders.

“Thanks, buddy,” Clint said later. Because that was a buddy-sex, right?

And Clint told himself that it didn't hurt when Bucky replied, “What’s a blowjob between friends, right?”

 

***

 

It was only the next morning that he realised that Bucky had touched his sternum repeatedly and he didn’t even notice.

His soul mark was healed.

 

***

 

His damn shoulder blade was itching again. He reached behind himself to-

“Stop that!”

Clint frowned. “Stop what? Breathing? Sitting in a car? Thinking? ‘M not touching your radio, am I?”

“You keep scratching your shoulder.”

“It’s itching,” he said and demonstratively reached behind himself and scratched his shoulder noisily.

Bucky grit his teeth, but didn’t say anything and Clint grinned. He paused a moment, stretched and scratched some more while groaning with pleasure. Bucky’s jaw developed a tic.

Clint kind of wanted to run his fingers over it. “Relax, Grumpy, it’s just my healing wound. It itches.”

“That was weeks ago.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Three weeks, minimum.”

Clint shrugged. “Seventeen days.”

“You've counted? Must be some itch, huh?”

“Shut up.” Clint grumbled and offered, “Want to come over tomorrow? This’ll be wrapped up by the afternoon, I’d wager.”

“Maybe.”

That was a ‘yes’. Clint knew it, Bucky knew it and he knew that Clint knew.

Since that first babysitting assignment they’d been constantly partnered up, Phil probably recognizing how well they worked together. And maybe Clint hadn’t made a secret of liking working with Winter Soldier either. Despite having somewhat similar skill sets, their working styles still complemented each other and things got done quickly and without fuss. So far they’d done undercover, recon, strike and sabotage together and they never seriously disagreed on each other’s methods.

Lately, they had also started spending their free time together. Mostly hanging out on the range, gym or Clint’s sofa. Okay, most of the time it was the sofa. And Lucky _loved_ Bucky. The first time Clint brought Bucky home, the stupid dog had sat on the supersoldier’s lap, enjoying the petting for more than an hour. Clint told himself he was not jealous.

Now, Bucky was squirming in his seat.

“Grrh,” was a sound that somehow, improbably, came out of Bucky’s mouth. Or possibly chest.

“No, seriously, Buck. What’s up with you?”

Bucky fidgeted. “I have sensitive ears. That sound is annoying. It’s hurting my ears.”

Clint’s grin widened. “Do you have a chalkboard with you? I feel the sudden urge to sharpen my arrowheads… “

“You’re an asshole, Barton,” he said, but his shoulders relaxed and his lips twitched as if suppressing a smile.

Clint tried to refrain from scratching, but Bucky was still fidgeting and gradually the tension crept back into his frame.

“What? I stopped! You keep that up, you’re  gonna break the wheel.”

Bucky grit his teeth, then seemed to make a conscious effort to relax his fingers and sighed.

“My bah-…” he mutters something.

Clint must have misheard. “What?” He stared at the other man.

“I said my butt itches,” he said loudly, rolled his eyes and muttered, “Oh, fuck it.” Then he reached behind himself and put his hand into his jeans.

Clint stared. “This is gold. The next Avengers movie night I’m telling everybody.”

“I’m telling them I got it from you.”

“Got what from me? I haven’t got a butt itch.”

“No, you’ve got itchititis. Highly contagious,” Bucky deadpanned. “In fact, you should be quarantined. No movie nights for you, mister.”

 

***

 

Bucky was lounging on the other end of the sofa, dressed in only soft-looking sweatpants, his muscular chest on display. Clint wanted to tell him to get dressed, but then Bucky would probably make some sort of flirty joke and Clint couldn’t take any more of that tonight.

“Why are you even here if you can’t help me finish pizza before it gets cold,” Clint complained, staring at the box with half-eaten pizza in it. “Lucky would’ve eaten it.”

“Lucky wouldn’t have eaten the rest of the four pizzas that you ordered.”

“I wouldn’t have ordered so many if I’d been eating with Lucky,” Clint grumbled, and tried not to think about how falling asleep with Lucky last night wouldn’t have been a problem either.

He was still kind of feeling the ghost impression of Bucky’s head on his shoulder and it was really difficult to not regret that he hadn’t taken a chance and stroked his hair.

Just sex, he could take, but this silly little crush was getting out of hand.

 

***

 

Something was moving under him. Clint grunted before he realized that waking up dizzy, disoriented and on an unsteady surface could mean trouble, but a quiet string of vaguely Slavic-sounding curses dispelled any notion of danger.

It had been several weeks since the first blowjob and they’d managed to have several encounters during that time. Random, semi-public places; blowjobs and handjobs they never talked about later. Sometimes Bucky just sent him that look from under his longish bangs that made Clint weak at the knees. He was sure the damn bastard knew how much Clint liked having sex with him, and that was bad. He couldn’t allow anyone to have that much power over him, so Clint gave his best to pretend that it was the sex that he liked the most, not the partner.

“Go to hell,” Clint mumbled, even though a sickly sweet sense of a heartache started pulsing behind his breastbone.

“Go yourself,” came a less sleepy reply. “Or better yet, go make us coffee.”

Clint grunted his assent, but didn't move, even though his cock was also waking up.

“Clint?” Bucky jostled him again. “Barton, get up, you're the host.”

“You're no guest,” Clint grumbled.

For a moment there was quiet and then -

“True. Together then?”

“Nah. Stay there.”

He crawled over the stupidly beautiful supersoldier and padded barefoot to the bathroom, doing his best to hide his arousal.

“Well, hello there, little hawk,” Bucky called after Clint.

Clint cringed. He could almost hear the arrogant smirk in Bucky's voice.

“Why are you still here exactly?” he raised his voice to be heard over the rushing water.

“I’m here, because _someone_ wanted to know who assaulted Sergeant Snuggles and it took them the whole season. I’ll give you a hint: it wasn’t me!”

Clint peeked out from behind the door and said with astonishment, “You didn’t assault Sergeant Snuggles?”

Bucky snorted. “No. Nor did I coerce any of my friends into commiting a crime of binge watching.”

“You did aid, abet and assist though,” Clint countered proudly, closed the door and started the shower.

“You need assistance in the shower, too?” he heard Bucky’s (probably) mocking voice.

“Fuck off!” Clint yelled from behind the shower curtain.

“I would, but you're depriving me of my favourite morning salute,” came the reply.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

“Don't flatter yourself, it salutes the sun every morning.” Clint congratulated himself on sounding almost normal.

“You know I could've taken care of it for you,” Bucky said sleepily from the couch. “You know you want to,” he sing-songed.

Clint shouldn’t have fallen asleep on the couch with Bucky. He couldn't let it become a regular thing. If it happened again, there was no telling what else could happen under his roof. He refused to have any meaningless sex in his home. Not with Bucky. An occasional post-mission fuck was one thing, but anything like that in his apartment would be a step too far. Right?

 

*** (3)

 

Aw, fuck. Who was he kidding? Of course, sex at home was always going to happen, he thought, as he slid his fingers through Bucky's short hair. For a fragment of a second he wished that he still felt something for Bobbi, because at least she stayed away, whereas Bucky was always here, in his face and in his heart, but so fucking far away in any other way. 

Bucky caressed his hip and side with his right hand, as his left gently, but firmly cradling Clint’s balls and Clint wished fiercely that Bucky would want this to mean something more than just a series of quickies. Pleasure shot through Clint’s groin and he moaned, unable to resist tugging Bucky's hair. Bucky smiled around his shaft, let it out of his mouth and softly blew on it.

“Fuck, Bucky,” he moaned, as metal fingers tightened around the base of his cock again. “Shit.” Bucky loved taking Clint to the edge again and again without letting him fall over it.

Clint slid his hands to Bucky's neck, shoulders, up again and -

“Oh, God… Buck, I'm goin-”

It hit him very suddenly and everything went black and floaty for a bit. After a bit, Clint realised that Bucky was licking him clean and lov- carefully tucking it back in his pants. Clint groaned.

“What, an orgasm such a drag for you?” There was laughter in Bucky’s voice which definitely didn’t do anything for Clint. Nope. It didn't.

“No, it was great.” He could admit at least to that. He glanced down at Bucky between his legs. “Just gimme a minute. I can-”

(3)

“Nah, that’s okay.” Bucky grinned as he patted Clint’s thigh and stood up. “All taken care of.”

Clint squashed a pang of disappointment and grinned back. “Thanks a bunch, buddy.”

 _Thanks a bunch, buddy?_ What? Apparently, Clint was still a colossal idiot.

Thankfully, Bucky was already halfway to the bathroom with only, “Yeah, whatever,” thrown back.

As if it didn’t even matter. _What’s a blowjob between friends, right?_ The words kept coming back to him as he jealously thought how many other people Bucky had told that to. Most of the strike team didn’t really talk to Winter Soldier that much, but there were analysts, who might not know better. Clint had seen heated looks exchanged.

Oh, fuck it.

Clint rubbed his face and got up to lumber off to the kitchen. Of course, it was going to happen. Of course, it was. Bucky oozed sex-appeal and practically lived here now, because of all the UST going on at the Tower... And to top it off, it was between Stark and Bucky’s ex soul mate. Even with marks dissolving decades apart, it still had to hurt to see Steve developing a soul bond with someone else. Clint would fuck off as often as he possibly could, too.

Yeah, maybe Clint had been lucky that Bobbi was so considerate as to get assigned to the west coast team and just texted him once in a while. (Clint wished she would stop.) At least he didn’t have to see her flirting around on him. Although why Bucky would seek distraction in Bed-Stuy was anyone's guess. And with Clint. That was weird, right? Clint just wished it _meant_ something.

 

*** (4)

 

Missions out of town were not Clint’s favourite, but they were par for the course. It was a stealth mission: go in, grab the evidence, out and a homerun. They knew where the mark was going to be in six hours, but until now, they both needed to sleep.

The little motel they took refuge in was shabby but not bad. Bucky and him both had had worse. The weather was the main downer: hot, wet and stifling. Clint needed a shower. He took off his shirt while covering the two metres that separated him from their tiny shower.

“Jesus, Barton.” Bucky stepped up to him from behind and Clint had to contain a shiver. “You’ve scratched it raw!” Bucky said.

“What?” Clint turned back to face Bucky. “Oh, that? Fuck, I know.” He stepped into the bathroom and shed his pants. “It started itching while we were driving over here _again_ and hasn’t stopped since. I’m starting to think it’s infected or something.”

“Looks like an alien has tried to make a nest there,” Bucky said from the bed by the sound of it.

Clint grimaced and felt a stab of want at the imagery (Bucky on the bed, not the alien) that immediately popped into his head. Not the time, Barton! Just in case, he finished his shower with cold water. It made his hanging bits less hanging, but that couldn’t be helped.

“Your turn,” he said, coming back to the room and dropping the towel to grab his pants.

“Mmm…”

Clint’s head snapped up to the sound of Bucky fucking Barnes’s flesh hand vigorously  moving on his cock. The bastard was sprawled out on the bed, smirking.

“What the hell,” Clint said, but it wasn’t even a question. He straightened himself, the fly still open. “Couldn’t you’ve waited for me?” he decided to cover his befuddlement with some brawn.

Bucky grinned. “Knew you’d be quick.” He shrugged. “So what’cha standin’ around for? Come on here and get on with the program. Or you’ll be late for the party.”

“What, your party that short?” Clint quipped, stepping up to the bed. Unselfconsciously, he dropped his pants again and stared at Bucky’s lap.

“Now that you’re here, I’m willing to drag it out a bit,” Bucky offered and let go of his dick. “Wanna get your hands on the stick?”

Clint burst out laughing and straddled the other man’s thighs. “You gonna let me drive this time?”

“We’ll see.” The soldier smirked.

 

 

In the end, the bastard didn’t even take off his jeans. And Clint loved it.

 

***

 

The sofa was soft, the cushion behind him-

Wait no, that was no cushion. Carefully, Clint shifted and there was a grunt somewhere above him. Clint opened his eye to check, and yes, there was the pitcher-like stain on the ceiling just like in the living room of his Bed-Stuy apartment, and the high sleepy whine coming from his lap was definitely Lucky.

“What’re you doin’?” Clint mumbled, closing his eye.

Another grunt.

“Barnes, what are you doing on my sofa? You were supposed to go home last night.”

“Shut up, blanket. I’m sleeping.”

Involuntarily, Clint cracked a smile. “Why do you think I’m the blanket? What about you being a mattress?”

“Ouch, Barton, call me a slut, why don’t you?”

Clint smiled, his eyes still closed. “You’re the one frequently your knees here, not me.”

Bucky grunted. “You love it.”

Clint sighed. “I do,” he said and thought that he should possibly stop talking.

“Yeah?” Bucky’s voice was breathy and Clint stilled, his eyes snapping open.

Bucky hummed and caressed Clint’s upper arm. Clint squirmed, felt a possible stirring behind him and squirmed some more.

“Lucky, shoo,” he said and pushed the dog off.

Fuck to not having sex at home; it’s already happened, after all. With a sense of doom and elation, Clint rubbed his constantly aching shoulder against the man behind him and for some strange reason, it felt good.

 

***

 

The mark was 34-year-old female, a CSRA analyst. They trailed her for three days, but she didn’t seem to be doing anything suspicious.

“How sure are we that she’s the mole?” Clint bit off his sandwich, as he stares out of his side screen. “I’m sick and tired of sitting in this damn car.”

“You sound like you’ve never done this before. I thought you were a qualified agent?”

“I’m plenty qualified, in fact, I’m the one supervising you sitting on your itchy butt here.”

Bucky sighed. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

Clint grinned. “Nope.” He overstressed the last sound of the word and that his shoulder was also still tingling went unmentioned.

 

***

 

Clint was getting vaguely worried. Why hasn’t his shoulder still healed properly? He removed his shirt and walked to the bathroom mirror. He turned his back to the mirror and removing the dressing, craned his neck to see better. It seemed mostly healed, but a thick dry scab was still covering most of it and for a long moment, Clint didn’t make a sound.

“Oh, shit!” he said slowly.

Clint refused to think what it looked like, but then viciously, he reached out and started rubbing the layer of the scab off. It didn’t take long to uncover a violent pink roundish spot that looked like someone had rested a scalding hot mug there. Just as he’d suspected, the vaguely circle-like mark sported the tell-tale net of tiny dots where puss was oozing out, and in the middle of that mess there were narrow dark lines that would, if the mark ever healed properly, form a picture.

“Fuck.”

A childish feeling of unfairness hit him so hard he almost had to sit down. For a moment more he stared at his miserable expression, but when his eyes filled with a sheen of liquid, he turned away and blinked it back.

Slowly, he walked to the kitchen counter, and hands limp at his sides, stared at the coffee machine. After a minute, he decided to prepare a pot.

An hour or so later, his eyes still dry, Clint left for his customary session on the range.

 

***

 

Clint delivered a roundhouse kick and spun around to strike the guy behind him, but just then the warehouse doors opened and two more goons ran out.

“Bucky!” he yelled, but Bucky was dealing with four heavy but highly skilled opponents himself, and that was when, on top of everything else, the shooting started.

This was bad.

The kick to the kidneys sent him flying, but on the upside, there were palm-sized stones in the rubble pile Clint landed on, and miraculously he had the time to grab several to use as projectiles, which was all he needed to turn the tide. A minute later, after having destroyed his own opponents, Bucky squashed Clint’s last attacker’s windpipe and in a moment it was over.

“You need medical?” Bucky asked him, frowning. “You’re still scratching your shoulder blade.”

Internally, Clint cringed. “It’s fine. Healing.”

“You sure? It’s been awful long.”

Bucky held out his arm to help Clint up. Clint ignored the ache in his chest and the stabbing sensation in his shoulder, and frowned right back.

“It's an itch, man,” Clint said, trying to sound annoyed. “Why would I need medical for that?” Bucky could never know. Would never know.

Side by side, they headed to their transport and Clint shoulder burned at the proximity.

“If you’re not going to the medical, would you at least let me look at it?”

Clint almost felt dizzy at the idea of showing his developing mark to it’s unwilling object.

“Drop it,” was all he managed to come up with.

From the corner of his eye Clint saw Bucky’s jaw clench. “There could be toxic waste in the wound.”

Clint almost snorted. “Right. That’s what it is.”

“Why on earth aren’t you taking this seriously?” Bucky didn’t sound angry, but there was some tension in his tone.

“Drop it.” Clint, on the other hand, did sound angry, and that was probably why Bucky dropped it.

After the debrief Clint didn't go to the locker room. Instead, he snuck out of the building and via back alleys, to Kate's.

 

***

 

Lucky jumped onto the sofa and clambered straight on Clint.

“Ow, Lucky, no!” He squirmed and tried to organise all the limbs, human and canine, into some semblance of comfort. “No, Lucky, that’s not…” He squirmed a bit more and got most of his hairy cohabitant onto the sofa and off his body. “Yeah, okay. You comfy now?” Lucky harrumphed in a self-satisfied way.

Clint sighed, and giving up all pretence of not needing comfort, sat up and buried his face into the dog fur.

A new fucking soul mark was the last thing he needed. Another painful, pointless picture etched into his skin. And on top of everything it would probably never fully settle or heal. To get two reciprocated marks in a row would be unheard of, so he had no illusions about the probability of Bucky getting a matching mark for Clint.

He leaned back into the cushion and scowling, stared at the TV.

Keep exchanging bodily fluids with someone he was developing a one-sided soul mark for would be the height of idiocy. If he kept it up, he’d probably have to admit to having a shirt fetish, but given how well Buck knew him by now, Clint didn’t think it’d go over so well.

He had to break this off. Maybe even try to keep his distance? Move away and hope the mark would clear up? Would that work? He didn’t even want to think about it starting to rot and bleed again if he tried that.

“So, Lucky? What do you think? Could we disappear into the night and not be friends with Bucky of a little while?” Lucky whined piteously. “Yeah, me neither.”

 

***

 

“Barton, you avoiding me for some reason?”

Clint startled guiltily. “No?”

The Winter Soldier had materialized from the dark shadow between Clint’s bathroom door and the closet just as he was trying to sneak in to take Lucky out for his evening walk. The traitor himself was lying, as wide as he was long, on the sofa, grinning happily.

“Right.” Silently, Bucky stepped out of the shadows and in the patch of the evening light his aggressive stance was miraculously transformed into an uneasy shuffle. “It's the third time that you've disappeared straight after the wrap-up. So tell me the other one.”

The intensity of the itch on his shoulder blade increased and Clint grimaced, manfully resisting from touching it.

“Well, I’ve been… thinking…” he said, moving towards the kitchen counter.

There was no way he could tell Bucky the real reason he’d kept away, but Bucky didn't deserve to be lied to. Besides, Clint was a crappy liar when it was to his friends.

“About?” Bucky sounded gruff.

The silence stretched and Clint sighed. “I’m not sure what to tell you. The thing is…” He was standing at the counter, leaning onto the edge with his palms, looking down at it. “I’ve been thinking.”

“So you said.”

By the sound of it, Bucky was behind him, slightly to the right. Even though Clint couldn’t see him, he could hear how tense his voice was.

“You didn’t say what about though.”

Clint swallowed. “Yeah.”

Pause.

“You planning to tell me?”

Clint shrugged. His shoulder blade hurt as if his soul mate was hurting, but that wasn't possible; there was no connection established.

“Clint.”

Even though not a question, there was expectation behind the sound of his name, which made Clint want to hightail out of the nearest window, but that would only delay the inevitable. When he heard Bucky moving closer, he tensed and Bucky stopped.

“Is it something I did?” Bucky asked after a short pause.

His voice was quiet and cold, almost mechanical, like he got when he was about to eliminate a target, but for some reason Clint didn't feel remotely threatened. Instead, he remembered how coming back after Loki had been; everyone glaring daggers at him in suspicion, whispers behind his back, and only Nat’s unwavering loyalty and probably a hefty load of manipulation and wordless threats holding them back from saying anything outright.

The length Clint would have gone to keep the friends he still had…  What if Bucky… ?

Suddenly there was a piercing pain in Clint’s shoulder wound and he felt lightheaded.

No. That couldn’t possibly be it.

But after decades of distrust and icy loneliness Bucky was probably a bit desperate to keep as many friends as he could, even Clint.

“Clint? You alright? You look like shit.”

Clint closed his eyes and nodded. “Thanks,” he said sardonically.

Bucky made a frustrated sound and stepped closer, raising his right hand over Clint’s shoulder, but didn't quite touch.

“Clint?” Bucky's voice sounded low and worried, and Clint’s mark ached in recognition.

“I’m okay,” he responded even though it was difficult to draw a breath.

“Yeah, you look it,” came a dry reply. “Look, can I…?”

Tentatively, Bucky put his real arm over Clint’s shoulders and awkwardly tried to steer him towards the sofa, but the wound burned and angrily, he shook it off.

“Why do you always do this?” Clint turned to look his friend in the eye. “Do you think I’ll break if you touch me with the cybernetic? You touch other people with it, almost making it a point at SHIELD, but when it’s me, you try to pretend that the left doesn’t exist? What the hell, Barnes?”

Bucky stared at Clint’s outburst without blinking. “I… Didn’t want it to be weird?” Slowly, he put both of his hands in his back pockets.

Clint shook his head irritably. “You didn’t want it to be weird? Newsflash - you _are_ making it weird, you dweeb!” He pushed Bucky's shoulder and walked past him to flop on the sofa to pat Lucky, who promptly rolled around to put his head in Clint’s lap. He whined contentedly.

“Okay. I’m…” Bucky swallowed, but otherwise, his face was still an indifferent mask. “...sorry. It’s just that the cybernetic arm tends to make people uncomfortable, and I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable, so I just-”

“But you do want to make Nat uncomfortable?”

There was a ghost of a muscle twitch in Bucky’s right cheek, but it was gone so fast that Clint thought he might have imagined it.

“No. She just… During our first sparring session, she used my arm as a step ladder to grab my hair and said I should be aware of my weaknesses, for fuck’s sake. The arm doesn’t make her uncomfortable.” There was a pause. “Does it?” he added with an expression which on other people would mean uncertainly, but Winter Soldier didn’t do uncertainty.

Clint shook his head. “Not especially. Or rather, she got used to it rather quick. I don't know.” He shrugged and suppressed a wince as pain cut into his shoulder once again. “But the point is, I’m not some wilting flower, you don’t have to pussyfoot around me, Barnes. I can take the bro-treatment, too.”

Bucky turned away and Clint thought that he heard him mutter something along the lines of, ‘That’s blatantly obvious,’ but the bitterness in his tone didn’t make any sense and feeling confused, Clint asked, “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Bucky said in a normal voice, and added, “I’m sorry, if I made it weird. It’s just that Steve always looks away from it as if the arm pains him, so I’ve learned to not draw attention to it, because he’s my friend and…” He shrugged.

“Well, it doesn’t bother me, just so you know.” He took the dog by his ears and closing his eyes, rubbed their foreheads together. “Who's a good boy, huh? Who's a good boy?” he asked quietly, in a babying voice, while hiding from the conversation he was supposed to be having. “So that's why you cut your hair? Too unskilled in a cat fight?”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, not my style.” He moved to the other side of the sofa and sat down in a deliberately careless sprawl. “Besides, hair ties and clips - not something I wanted to get into.” He tried on a smile which immediately made Clint want to apologize.

Clint let go of Lucky and let him wiggle his butt closer to Bucky for a dual service of petting.

“I need to take him for a walk,” Clint said into dog’s fur.

Bucky didn’t answer right away, but when Clint stood up and walked to the door with ecstatic Lucky circling his legs and getting in the way, he snarled, “So what? We're not even gonna talk about it? That it?” Bucky was up now and there was nothing languid about his stance.

Clint sighed. “You better come along then.” He took the leash from the low cupboard by the door and leaned down to put it on Lucky.

The entire way out the door and into the park Clint spent wishing he’d jumped out the window when he’d had the chance. He was almost sure he’d be able to lose the Winter Soldier on his own turf.

He unclipped Lucky to let him explore the trail at his own leisure. Lucky thanked him with a short bark and trotted to the nearest tree.

The silence was uncomfortable, but that was nothing new; Clint was pants at enduring uncomfortable silences with friends he had a crush on, because they always knew he had a crush on them and sometimes they knew even before he knew. He usually didn’t have a mark for them though.

“There's one thing I need to know,” Clint said after a while. “I need to know why you… Why did you start this… buddy sex thing. Not that I would generally object to the no strings attached sex. I love no-strings sex. And you're scarily good at it, but… Why me?”

“Why not you?” Bucky shot back immediately. He sounded angry. “What do you think is so wrong with you that I wouldn’t want to have sex with you?”

Clint felt wrongfooted. “Yeah, but… That’s it then? You just… felt like having sex and I was the convenient, not an unpleasant warm body?”

There was a brief silence and then abruptly, Bucky stopped, put his hands in his hair, as if in exasperation and growled an expletive.

“What does it take to make you believe that you’re not repulsive? Is it really so hard to believe that someone might want you? Might be attracted to you?” He whirled towards Clint. “I sucked you off, because I wanted to, okay? Because the first time I saw you draw and release that ancient weapon of yours, I thought, ‘fuck, I’d tap that’, but back then I was still confined to the limited areas of the SHIELD headquarters and being escorted everywhere, so that wasn't…”

He shrugged.

“So you were bored out of your skull, I get it-” Clint tried to joke, because his shoulder was one giant hole of pain, but Bucky cut him off.

“You're not listening to me, Barton! Shut up for once in your fucking life and listen! That first stake-out we had together, you refused to be intimidated by me, and you've no idea how rare it is. Plus, you made me want to laugh. You were…”

Uncharacteristically, Bucky spread his hands as if he had no words.

“Ridiculous?” Clint supplied, wishing he could just stab himself in the damn soul mark and cut the pain out.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yes, Clint. You're ridiculous, you're always ridiculous and especially right now.”

Clint grinned. “Thank you. You're ridiculous, too,” he said in his most sincere manner.

Bucky let out a surprised laugh, which almost immediately softened into a fond smile, which then, to Clint’s confusion, developed a bittersweet edge.

“Yeah, that. That is why I-” He stopped to clear his throat. “You know, most of the time, my life is just one big pile of shit. I don't mean to be ungrateful, but I just. I don't know how to feel any different.”

“I call it grey,” Clint interjected.

“What?” Bucky’s gaze jerked to Clint’s for a moment.

“I call it grey. When everything’s shit, it’s all greys, no shades or variations, just one big murky grey.”

Bucky thought for a moment. “Yeah. That. Except that sometimes there're streaks of red or black, or both.”

“Not for me.” Clint paused and took a moment to try and make sense of what he'd been hearing. “It might turn purple at the edges if it gets better, but…” For some reason his mind refused to process what Bucky seemed to be saying, so his mouth was still spurting nonsense. “Mostly just grey,” he finished idiotically.

Bucky nodded as if Clint’s words made sense. “Right.” He paused. “I guess, you’re my purple tinted glasses then.”

Clint blinked. “What? You’re saying is that you want to bang me, because I make you see purple?”

“Purple. Blue, green. I dunno. Just. Not grey.” He grimaced and turned his face away, as if to hide from the ridiculousness of what he was saying.

“So, what are you saying exactly? You saying you’re attracted to me?” Clint wasn’t sure he could believe it, but the evidence to support the preposterous idea seemed to be stacking up. “Okay,” Clint decided. “Okay. That is good to know.”

Bucky snorted derisively and turned to stomp away in the direction of where Lucky had presumably gone.

“Okay,” Clint repeated quietly, his shoulder ache easing off a fraction.

Clint took up the pace to catch up.

“Lucky, here boy!” he called, spotting his dog behind the bushes. When he caught up to Bucky, he continued more quietly. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t trying to seduce me so that I would continue to be your friend or something.”

“What?” Bucky whirled around. “That’s fuckin’ insulting.”

Clint blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, it is. Sorry. I’m an idiot.”

“Ain't that the truth,” Bucky said, putting his hand into his back pocket again and it seemed as if he were rubbing-

Clint stared at the characteristic pose and his heart started thudding away as an entirely crazy idea sparked and took root. He turned away and let out a short whistle. The dog lept out of the bushes and bumped straight into Clint, his tongue lolling out of his huge dog-smiling mouth.

“Hey there! That’s my boy, yeah? Good boy, Lucky!”

Clint threw a stick he'd found on the ground and Lucky darted after it.

“Well. I think…” Clint mulled over the idea in his head for a bit. “I think,” he repeated very slowly. “I might’ve been an idiot.”

Bucky snorted. “I thought we’d just established that?”

“Yeah, but this is for a different reason.”

Lucky bounded back, stick in his mouth and deposited it on the grass before Clint.

“I’m thinking…” Clint said. “You never take your pants off.” He threw the stick again and resumed walking. “I thought it meant you didn’t care much. That a quick roll in the sheets was the only thing you were interested in. But I’m starting to think it’s not true.”

Bucky was walking slightly ahead of him and from the corner of his eyes Clint saw Bucky swallow. There were some people further away from them on the trail, so Clint stopped walking. After a moment, so did Bucky.

“Is it?” Clint asked when Bucky remained silent.

“I-” Bucky’s voice broke and he cleared his throat. “No. No, it’s not.”

Clint turned to look at Bucky now, only to see him standing as if frozen, his hands still in his back pockets and his head lowered. He looked like a snake ready to strike. In the past it might have scared Clint.

“Then why?” he asked quietly, almost sure now that he was right, because even though objectively, his mark was still throbbing, Clint could also feel anticipatory tingling, which, he was sure, was nonsense, but he _did_ feel it _._

Bucky looked away, grimacing. “You know why.”

“Tell me anyway,” Clint demanded.

Maybe it was cruel, but he needed to be absolutely sure.

Bucky exhaled. “Why? There’s no point is there?” he said in a quiet, dull voice. “On the other hand, there’s also no point in not saying it, since it's fuckin’ obvious anyway. So yeah, there’s this stupid thing… On my butt.”

Noisily, Clint exhaled. “Shit,” he said after a moment.

Bucky’s lips formed a wry sad smirk as he threw Clint a look. “Yeah,” he said.

Clint shook his head. “You should've fucking told me, you dimwit. Mine’s on the shoulder.”

Bucky's head came up, but Clint didn't give him any time to react, just closed the distance and enveloped his moronic bond mate into a hug.

“What?” This time Bucky sounded as shocked as any other guy who hadn’t been conditioned to control every part of himself.

“Yeah.” Clint stepped back to hold the idiot by the shoulders and peer into his eyes. “It still oozes puss a bit, but it should stop once you kiss it better. Or well, the edges? Becasue I don’t expect you to kiss puss that would be- Yeah anyway. I can’t believe your mark is on your butt.”

“Shut up, you moron.” He pulled Clint closer and reached behind him. “May I…?” His fingers were hovering over Clint’s shoulder.

“Yeah, shit, Bucky. Of course.”

Clint’s voice was hoarse, but also thick with joy as he watched Bucky's blue eyes wide with astonishment. Slowly, he reached out behind Bucky and then it was as if the circuit was completed and Clint thought-

There were no thoughts, only knowing, feeling, and being a part of this new and wondrous thing-

“The butt part,” Bucky whispered into his hair, “I actually can believe. It’s your mark, of course it’s gonna be on my ass, you being literally the pain in it.”

Clint let out an idiotically high peal of laughter. “Well, not in it… yet,” he said, grinning. “But I’m hoping to get there too.”

 

***

 

That night, when the slight purple painted over the dusky sky, the only one paying it any attention was Lucky. He was sitting on the fire escape, musing if he should wake his two humans for a quick run to the food truck or not. It was the least they could do for disrupting his sleep with those god-awful noises.

 

***

 

The next time that Clint heard an incoming text ping, he didn’t cringe. He stared at the icon only for a beat and then clicked it open.

_‘Funny archery meme, thought you might get a laugh.’_

It wasn’t that funny, but Clint laughed just from relief anyway.

A couple of days later she sent:  _‘How's your day? I made a new friend today and I just wanted to tell you about it.’_ And the next one was:  _‘I know you’re probably deleting these, but just in case - I’m always here to lend an ear if you need to talk.’_

It would be good to be friends with Bobbi again. He tapped the ‘reply’ icon.

 

**THE END**

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Scenes of sexual nature you can skip:  
> (1) - Clint thinks that a dried apricot looks like a vagina. Then he tries to replicate it with other apricots because he's weird that way. It's supposed to be funny. Sorry, if you don't think that way.  
> (2) - Bucky gives Clint an intense blowjob at the end of which Clint is so confused that he says, “Thanks buddy,” and Bucky returns it with, “What’s a blowjob between friends, right?”  
> (3) - Bucky gives Clint another blowjob, but refuses to have the favour returned. Clint agonises over what it all means and wishes that it meant something to Bucky. In the middle of that scene, there’s another (3) after which there’s nothing graphic and only Clint’s inner turmoil is described. But you can resume from the next paragraph without reading this one if you prefer.  
> (4) - Mission out of town: some playful banter and then Bucky has his hands on his own cock, but then it's a fade out. It ends on the mention that Bucky never even took off his pants and Clint thought it was awesome. If you're comfortable with that, you can safely read it.
> 
> ***
> 
> If you're into reblogging, this story has a tumblr post http://serinah80.tumblr.com/post/175666383058/doomcheese-story-by-serinah-link-art-by (I'm sorry, I apparently don't know how to insert clickable links?)  
> And don't forget to just go there and give the artist your love. (https://doomcheese.tumblr.com/) Her art is AMAZING! Doomcheese, THANK YOU!
> 
> This banner is cropped version of this (look at Bucky's hair!!):  
> https://doomcheese.tumblr.com/post/175666152811/my-art-for-purple-and-grey-by-serinah-for-the
> 
> I hope you enjoyed. :)


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